travel
The scene is plucked straight from a film. Highway 1 is an iconic route, and the stretch known as the Big Sur is a cinematographer’s dream. The twisting 90km road, from Carmel to Cambria, clings defiantly to clifftops – precarious drops to crashing breakers and amber beaches, covered in succulents flecked with pink and gold flowers on one side; mountains thick with pine forests and cypress groves on the other. It’s June, and a fierce sun sits high in a cornflower sky, which darkens briefly as immense condors swoop overhead.
Around every hairpin bend, as yet another scene of wild beauty unfurls, I fight to keep my eyes on the road. But I must; it’s a route that would challenge the most seasoned driver. I’m especially nervous because I’m something of a newbie, with little more than a year’s driving under my belt. The sea air rushes in through the windows and my mood veers between abject terror – white knuckles clenching the wheel – and pure elation at the wondrous views.